


Bishop's Lace

by midnightweeds



Series: Bloom [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Clandestine, F/M, Harry Potter/Ron Weasley - Freeform, Kissing, Love, Murder, Religion, Sex, Undercover, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-18 22:44:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15496371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightweeds/pseuds/midnightweeds
Summary: She licked her lips, tasting the sugary sweetness he left behind on her mouth. Picking up the journal and flowers, she held them to her chest as he walked her to the door, his fingers toying with his rosary.He moved to unlock the door, but laid his hand upon it instead, looking down at her. When their eyes met, he said, “Thank you.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> _sanctify_  
> 

**FT**  I want to see you  
**FT**  As it turns out, you were right.  
**FT**  There is a cover up. And I want to make love to you.

“Who is F-T?”

Hermione snatched her phone from Ron’s grip, shooting him an icy stare before pressing her thumb to the home button. “None of your business.”

“He wants to see her,” Ron told Harry, hooking his thumb in Hermione’s direction. “Because she was right about a cover up.  _And_ -”

“Jesus Christ, Ron,” Hermione sighed, but it was more bark than bite at this point.

“He wants to make love to her.”

Harry blushed, but looked at her coolly. “Mixing business with pleasure these days?” He stretched out in the booth, his arm curling behind Ron.

“Can’t be upset about me taking a page out of your book,” she told them, thumbing out a quick:  _I’m always right._ And then:  _Not happening._

“So, who’s the lucky guy?” Harry questioned, fingers drawing idly on Ron’s shoulder.

“Who says it’s a guy?” Hermione questioned, swirling her wine before taking a sip.

Ron leaned forward in surprise, jolting the table. Water sloshed out of their cups. “Bull shit.”

Hermione shrugged. “You don’t have to believe something for it to be true.” And, anyway, it wasn’t a lie. Tom wasn’t a guy. He was something closer to a god.

“She gets your personal line?” Harry questioned curiously. Idly, he drew his fingers through his dark, curly hair. He drew his index finger down the back of Ron’s hand, too, though it wasn’t clear who the action was for.

“They gets whatever they want.”

 **FT**  Definitely happening  
**FT** Come to the washroom

Hermione dropped her phone in her bag, staring at it for a moment before downing her wine. “Unfortunately.”

“I thought you were undercover?” Ron questioned.

“Would I be here with you right now if I was?” She countered, getting up from the table. “Loo. Wait for me, okay?”

She didn’t wait for a response, instead turning and hurrying to the back. Before she turned toward the restroom, an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into a private room.

Tom let go of her as quickly as he’d grabbed her, locking the door and leaning against it as he watched her.

“Father,” Hermione greeted, righting her dress. “I’d say this was a surprise, but I’d rather not lie to you.”

He smirked, dark eyes never leaving her face. “I brought you something,” he told her, nodding toward the table behind her.

She studied him for a moment, noting his zip-up hoodie and jeans. “You look like a fed,” she told him, turning toward the table to see a book resting next to a bouquet of flowers.

“I hoped to fit in.”

She smiled to herself, drawing her hand over the book. “Saint Ignatius Loyola.”

“It’s his feast day.”

“Interesting choice,” she commented, paging through it to discover that it wasn’t a book, but a journal. His clean, crisp cursive filled the pages, and her eyes closed in on  _I am hungry for things I cannot have_ before she pressed it closed. “What is this?”

“An exercise.

“I flatter myself by considering that he and I have much in common. Orphans who found god while recovering from war injuries. Spent years begging to get by before worth was recognized.”

“You were raised for this. By the church,” she pointed out.

“That doesn’t mean I had to believe in god.”

Her eyes widened in surprise she shouldn’t have felt. He always said things he shouldn’t when it was just the two of them around. “Did he form a secret society, too?” She looked over her shoulder to see that Tom was standing nearer to her now, looking down at where her fingers rested on the hardcover of the journal.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of them. The Society of Jesus.”

Hermione resisted laughing. “Jesuits,” she commented, reaching for the flowers. “Were you a young boy when you learned of him? Did you tailor your life after him?”

“I learned of him on the day I was reborn, Miss Granger. Which so happened to be the day he died.”

She cupped her hand, gently touching the bundle of tiny, white flowers. They were beautiful, plucked with obvious care from his gardens, and tied together by one of the ribbons he wore in his hair. “You’re killing me, Tom,” she murmured, bringing them to her nose.

“I’m going to out him. Them.”

She looked up at him in surprise. “And then what? Get sent to some war-torn country?” When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “Let me take care of it. You’re better off here.”

“I’m better off within Rome.”

“You- you don’t mean-” She laughed, a light, breathy exhalation more than anything else. “You’re mad.”

He frowned, looking down at the flowers. His hand came up, index finger brushing her knuckles curved around the stems. “Would you pray with me?”

“You text to say you want to make love to me, admit that you’re going to out the archbishop, and now you’re asking me to pray with you?” She set the flowers down, looking up at him curiously. “What am I going to do with you, Father Riddle?”

“Allow me worship, then.”

She swallowed, allowing herself to be crowded against the table. They’d kissed once, soft of at least, crowded against the wall next to his office door; but it’d only a chaste kiss upon her forehead after a long, exhausted sigh from him. He hadn’t touched her anywhere else, but they’d stood there for a moment, breathing each other in, and Hermione had been certain she’d never experience a more intimate moment in her life.

Except now, they were here again, and for as much as he seemed unconcerned about his future, she was certain he’d resolved to the possibility of being sent away for outing Archbishop Dumbledore. He had nothing to lose right now.

Hermione turned her eyes to him just as he took her face in his hands. His thumb brushed the swell of her bottom lip as he again said, “Allow me.”

She swallowed down a shiver. His breath smelt like the bubblegum he constantly chewed, and she wondered if his mouth would taste the same.  “Yeah,” she tilted her face up toward him. “Okay.”

He kissed a lot like he did everything else: eyes focused, brow furrowed, and serious. It was only when Hermione thought  _to hell with it_ and drew her arms around him, fingers drawing up the back of his neck and tugging his hair free of his bun that she got a taste of who he might have been when he was a young infantry soldier: hungry and passionate.

His hands suddenly consumed, his mouth breathing her in as his body melded into hers.

“What do you call them?” She questioned as he kissed down her throat.

“Knights,” he breathed, smoothing the skirt of her dress up her thighs. “Knights of Walpurgis.”

She laughed, taking his face in her hands and bringing his mouth back to hers. His fingers found the place between her thighs, fingers playing over her panties.

“I killed my father there.”

She tensed, eyes opening to find him watching her.

“He came to a meeting- told them I was undeserving. Shouted the things I’d done to survive. I had to do it.” He pressed the lightest of kisses to the corner of her mouth. “They watched.”

“Forgive me,” he requested. “Please.”

Hermione wondered if she was supposed to tell her boss. Or if she was to keep the information as leverage. She briefly considered that there were women who liked this kind of power.

She wasn't one of them.

“I forgive you,” she told him, and then he was kissing her again, his tongue soft and strong. His lips somewhere between grateful and desperate.

It was worship. Devotion. Reverence.

She realized that she was enjoying it just as his fingers pressed her panties to the side and slipped between her folds. His sharp inhale of surprise at finding her wet caused her to grin, fingers gripping at the back of his neck. Neither said anything as he brought her to orgasm, his fingers confident and lips soft against her face.

Someone dropped a glass in the hall and he laughed, hips shifting away from her, but his hand remained, feeling her tremble beneath his touch. At length, he helped her right her clothes, pressing a kiss to her forehead before stepping away from her.

She licked her lips, tasting the sugary sweetness he left behind on her mouth. Picking up the journal and flowers, she held them to her chest as he walked her to the door, his fingers toying with his rosary.

He moved to unlock the door, but laid his hand upon it instead, looking down at her. When their eyes met, he said, “Thank you.”

The words echoed in her head as she walked back to the table, trapped somewhere between regret and the desire for more. It faded to the background when she saw Ron’s shit eating grin.

“20 pounds, Harry. Pay up! I told you she was meeting FT.”

Hermione laughed as she sat down.

“Did you just meet her? Or did something else happen?” Harry questioned.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“It’s 20 pounds worth of my business. Did you get fucked or not?”

She laughed, pushing her gifts into her tote bag and shouldering it. “We met and I came. And you’re going to pay for my dinner.”

Hermione finished Harry’s wine in two big swallows. “How’s that for getting fucked?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a year later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to my annis for beta-ing
> 
> any mistakes are because i can't stop changing things even once it's done.

Hermione relaxed into the chair, watching as Tom bit his knuckle in frustration. **  
**

“What does it matter if I’m ordained or not?” He questioned.

She checked her phone to see three messages from Lavender and six from Ron. She ignored them and looked back at Tom. “The Church of England isn’t going to roll over for you, Father.”

“Your Excellency,” Snape corrected from his spot on the couch behind her.

Tom ignored the both of them. “Who I love makes me a better person.”

Her eyes widened. She chanced a glance at Snape to see that he couldn’t care less either way, but he met her eyes in a way that told her he knew perfectly well what she and Tom had been getting up to for the last year.

As the pale, dark haired man checked his nails, he said, “You could leave the church. Marry who you want.”

“Don’t get carried away,” Hermione cut in, frowning at him. She looked back at Tom.“This is what you wanted. If you’d have wanted to get married, you wouldn’t be here.”

“I wanted to be the Pope,” he reminded her.

“You’re not even 50. You’ve many years yet. Not to mention, the current one hasn’t, I don’t know,  _died_.”

“Do you think he’ll die in the next five years?” He swiveled in his chair, looking Hermione over. “I’ll be just shy of 50. I don’t mind spending my birthday adjusting to the role.”

“I’m not answering that. Snape,” she looked at him. “Help. Please. Talk some sense into him.”

“Archbishop Riddle knows exactly how I feel about religion. I told him to get into politics.”

She blinked at him, annoyed, and then turned to look back at Tom. “Well, don’t do that. It’s hardly dignified.” She looked at her phone as it buzzed again.

 **HP**  Tell Archie his lunch is cancelled. Someone wants to kill him.  
**HG**  What’s new  
**HP**  Has he received death threats before?  
**HG**  Yes  
**HG**  From you  
**HG**  and myself  
**HG**  daily  
**HP**  Hermione seriously  
**HG**  I’ll stay. I’m learning  
**HP**  Good  
**HP**  Slow and steady wins the race

“Lunch with my boss is cancelled. Someone is trying to kill you,” she told him, half startled when she looked up from her phone to see Snape sitting in the chair next to her.

Tom’s head lulled as he looked up at the ceiling. “What’s new?”

Hermione laughed.

“My Lord,” Snape said exasperatedly.

Hermione frowned at the address and the easy way it rolled off his tongue. She briefly wondered if Snape was one of the men who’d watched Tom murder his own father. They’d known each other long enough.

“Death threats aren’t all bad. If you’re certain that you’d rather marry than be in the church, it would be an incredible reason to leave,” Snape suggested.

“Hold on,” she cut in. As her eyes met Tom’s, she said, “You worked for this. Your whole life. It would be foolish to give it up. Politics are not a sure thing-”

“Catholics would love him. They’d vote for him.”

“They’re a dying breed. Religion doesn’t interest the masses, and they’d use it against him.”

“Riddle is charming and handsome. If he is threatened for his beliefs and steps down for the safety of others-”

“This is a horrible decision,” Hermione got up, looking around for where she’d left her bag. “I don’t want to be apart of this.”

“Oh, sit  _down,_  Miss Granger,” Tom huffed. He picked up his pen and wrote something down before handing the paper off to Snape. “Take care of that. I’ll see you this evening.”

Snape sighed as he stood up from his seat, looking at them both curiously. “I could arrange to have lunch brought to you both here.”

Tom clapped his hand enthusiastically, startling both of his companions. “Yes! Matzah ball soup for me. And, Miss Granger...she likes pastrami on marble rye. Mustard, tomato, lettuce. Don’t heat it.”

She would have been embarrassed that he knew her order if he’d been telling anyone but Snape; but apparently, he knew too much about them, and far more about Tom. After he left, Tom got up from his seat and moved to sit on the couch, staring blankly out the window.

“How much does he know?” She asked quietly.

“Too much, probably.”

She took the silence to study him, admiring his sharp profile. He’d cut his hair during his transition to Archbishop, and it seemed to have transformed him, but he’d let grow out a bit in the last month, and now his curls peaked handsomely. “You would have made a good politician,” she told him.

He looked over at her, amusement playing on his features.

“The first family look would have suited you.” She smoothed her hands down her skirt, licking her lips. “I’d have voted for you.”

“Even if I believed in cutting social services and school funding?”

“Well- you wouldn’t garner any support that way. Not to mention the fact that you were an orphan who benefited from public services. It’d be foolish to alienate voters whose support you’d have naturally.”

“Hypothetically.”

“Right. Because I like you as an Archbishop. It suits you.”

“You know it angers Snape when you call me Father.”

“I say Your Excellency in public,” she reminded him.

“Just Tom is alright.”

Hermione half smiled, and he reached out an arm, beckoning her to join him on the couch. She grabbed a stack of papers and a pen off his desk, dropping them on the table in front of him. “Just Tom,” she said as she curled into his side, unsurprised when his arm didn’t immediately circle her shoulders. “Just Hermione is probably alright, too.”

He smiled, but not at her. Instead, he stared outside, a frown touching his brow as his smile faded. She reached up, smirking when he flinched, and rubbed the frown out of his brow.

“I wouldn’t marry you.”

He looked over at her, his eyes guarded.

She drew her thumb across his cheek. “If you were to quit,” she clarified.

“Would you work for me? If I left for politics.”

“Don’t.”

“What if I was just a pastor? Somewhere out west. I would tell them I left for love, and preach it every Sunday.”

Hermione smiled. “That’d be very sweet, but I don’t see you being content in that. And, I’d be staying here in London.”

“How do you see me being content?”

She considered it for a moment before saying, “You could be content in this role, if you allowed yourself to be.

“You don’t love me, then,” he decided.

“In theory, I’m going to hell for you,” she told him softly. “Of course I love you.”

“That’s my burden.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ve already forgiven you.”

She watched as he laced his fingers in his lap, legs crossed at the knee.

Hermione wasn’t religious, not even a little. She’d grown up Jewish in a Catholic school. Partied with Wiccans through university. She’d believed in science her whole life, until she’d watched Tom perform miracles she couldn’t explain. It’d been an incredible three years knowing him, watching him, to the point where she believed in him now, too. He was wasted in the church, but there was no better place for him then on the course he was on.

Even if it meant she had to stop fucking him at some point.

“I’d work for you,” she told him quietly. “I don’t want you to leave. I want you to follow the dreams you had...before me. But, I’d work for you.”

He leaned in to kiss her, hand coming up to cradle her jaw. “Would things change?”

His breath was warm and sweet against her face, blending with the clean, crisp scent of him.

“No,” she breathed, enjoying the small kisses he was pressing to her mouth.

He smirked against her lips, the feeling warming her. She opened her eyes to find him watching her.

“Good,” he murmured, Hermione tasting bubble gum in her mouth as he spoke the word.

Everythought turned to him as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into him. She had enough sense to pull her skirt up over her hips before she lost herself in the feel of him against her body. His hands were hot through her clothes, his touch a hesitant whisper, and then she was consumed: sharing his breath and his heartbeat, sensing every touch before he made it.

As his touch drifted south, his mouth traveled down the column of her throat. Hermione moaned at the feel of his teeth, but they were otherwise quiet as she slid her hands down his chest, to unbutton his belt and trousers. She massaged him over his trousers, enjoying the feel of him hardening as his fingers finally slipped beneath her panties, sinking into her purposely.

“Just Hermione,” he murmured, voice vibrating against her throat.

She laughed, feeling him smile against her skin.

“Kiss me.”

She did, slipping her hand into his trousers and gripping the length of him. His whole body seemed to stutter beneath her, and he moaned into her mouth, arms coming around her to wordlessly tell her he was ready. She saw stars as he entered her, her whole body desperate for more and more and more.

Hermione gave a small sigh, feeling his hands everywhere: on her breasts, against the backs of her thighs, through her hair. His hips worked desperately against hers, his breath filling her lungs as he pressed a hand between them, his fingers finding the bundle of nerves between her thighs to help bring her over the edge.

She felt hallowed after, body draped over his, his arms around her waist. She drew her finger in circles over his chest, eyes focused on his collar as she felt him growing soft within her. His arms tightened around her when she tried to move.

“You’ll get cum on your trousers,” she told him.

Tom laughed, one arm remaining around her waist as the other climbed her back and twisted into her hair. He brought her mouth to his, kissing her soundly in the silence of his office. As their eyes met, he said, “I didn’t get into politics then, and I wouldn’t now.”

“Well,” Hermione pulled away from him, standing up to right her clothes. “Thank god.”

He offered her an amused glance as he righted himself. “But that doesn’t change my wanting to be with you. I meant what I said earlier. I will work to be an exception to the rule.”

“What if they ask you to step down?”

“Then I step down. I would love being a priest again. The way people look at you is inspiring. It feeds the soul/”

She studied him, watching as he toyed with his rosary, before saying, “I want you to work on being considered for Pope. That was your goal when we met, and it should be your goal now.

“I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.”

“Do you mean it?”

“I’m fu-having sex with an Archbishop. If I wasn’t all in, I wouldn’t be here.”

Tom smirked. “I have so much to tell you, Hermione,” he murmured.

She watched as he got up and stood before her.

“So much,” he said said, miming lifting a veil from her face. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. Her nose. Her mouth. “Work for me. Here. You’ve done an incredible job making law enforcement look good since you graduated. Make the church look good now. Please. Won’t you?”

“Yes.”

He seemed surprised at the ease of her answer, and then he smiled one of her favorite smiles: slow and easy, creasing his cheeks and touching his eyes. But, a knock at the door distracted him.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and murmured, "Thank you," before turning for the door.

“Lunch,” Hokey announced, her shrill voice filling the air after Tom had opened the door.

Hermione moved over to his desk to grab her phone.

 **HG**  I’m in  
**HG**  Brand manager

“And tea,” Hokey continued. “Dr. Snape suggested the flowering kind before he left. It’s just blooming, Miss Granger, if you’d like to watch.”

 **HP** Unless you were fucking him  
**HP**  lol

“Miss Granger has agreed to position, Hokey. Please prepare the next door office for her. And inform Malfoy.”

Hermione stood over the pot, half watching as the flower opened before her eyes. The overwhelming need to protect filled her, and she tried to push it down. Away. It would do no good.

 **HP** his dick is so far up his ass he probably doesn’t know he has one  
**HP** good job  
**HP**  ditch this phone  
**HP** bring him down

No good at all.

**Author's Note:**

> this is also posted on my tumblr, honeyweeds
> 
> thank you to my annis for betaing
> 
> thank you for reading<3


End file.
